Certain kinds of passion ignite hard and fast, devouring everything it comes in contact with, often leaving in its wake nothing but ash and cinder. But while it burns, oh how it lights up the night.
This song, it was borne into my musical-psyche in the midst of fiery passion. To say it left me burned would be a fierce understatement. We crashed into one another, fell hard and fast, left wreckage in our paths that would take over a decade to mend (or was it ever mended), but for awhile, oh how we shined.
You sang this to me over the phone at the start, slipped it into a mix tape and left it in my post box when we were apart (the third time), and screamed it at me as I slammed the door behind me. This was one of our songs, one of his, one of mine, and on this side of things, oh how it hurts to hear play.
Perhaps you would still blame me if you were still around to weigh in on all of it (I know there are those who do). Towards the end I grew to hate that every we had conversation turned ugly. Though, to be honest, there are days I wish you could still show up and tell me I was wrong. Because what you left behind, what we made together, oh how beautiful they are.
The fires, they did not destroy everything.